


5+1 - Sheogorath and F!Dragonborn

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the Dragonborn saw Sheogorath as He is + one time she saw Him as He was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1-2

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this in response to [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5590662#t5590662) on the Kink Meme.

-1-

Mira generally enjoyed being the Dragonborn. She loved the ability to Shout and the respect that she garnered from the people of Skyrim, which she was all the happier to bask in considering her Dunmer heritage.

The part she liked much less, however, was the part where she was expected to save the world from a world-eating dragon, with the Blades’ help only sometimes and the Greybeards’ help even less often.

Because of this, she often took... detours. Which was how she’d ended up within the mind of Emperor Pelagius III.

Now, the mind of an old, dead, madman was not her intended destination. In fact, Mira had told herself she would go _straight_ to the Bosmer in the inn to talk about this Thalmor party. She’d just... wanted to see the Blue Palace first, and had been ambushed by an odd man asking her to help him find his master. Which was weird, but not the strangest thing Mira had ever assisted someone with.

She had _assumed_ she would be in and out of the palace quickly. Of course, she was wrong. That sort of figured. And she knew, somewhere, some higher power was laughing at her.

It took Mira at least an hour to treat the old emperor’s mind and get out of there, the Wabbajack clenched in her hands and the Mad God’s voice ringing in her ears.

As she made her way out of the palace, she wondered idly just _what_ New Sheoth was and if he _actually_ wanted her to look him up if she found herself there. She rather hoped not. She had enough appointments to keep in Skyrim where things made some semblance of sense.

As far as Mira was concerned, if she never saw the insane demigod again, it would be too soon. And regardless, she did have a Bosmer to meet in an inn and a party to infiltrate.

In fact, on the list of things the elven Dragonborn expected to happen on her journey, running into the Mad God again would be... well, it would be near the bottom.

… It’s a long list.

-2-

Mira was fond of Whiterun. The people were friendly enough, the tavern had good, stiff drinks, and the weather was pleasant-- for Skyrim. In all, it was a _nice_ place. Whenever she wasn’t out running around and playing Dragonborn, she really rather liked to stop by at her little home there.

She often used words like ‘quaint’ and ‘charming’ to describe it. Before she was forced to leave High Rock in such an awful rush, she had a much grander estate, but she hadn’t exactly had the time to _pack_ between being told she had to flee and actually fleeing, and had arrived in Skyrim with nothing. Which was fine. Her mother built their family’s fortune from literally nothing, and Mira was determined to do the same.

But for the moment, her little Whiterun home was more than acceptable. She came in sometime after lunch and was greeted by Lydia, who she found at least moderately tolerable, and immediately ordered her housecarl to get some more fresh vegetables for the dinner she wished to cook-- not because she needed any, her current stores were perfectly adequate, but because she liked having the house to herself when she was home.

Lydia knew as much, and Mira knew she knew, so the Nord was unlikely to return to the house until it was actually nearing dinner time.

Mira had just returned from Blackreach-- with an Elder Scroll of all things in her pack!-- and _really_ needed some time to properly and comfortably rest before the inevitable climb back up the mountain to the Throat of the World. The fate of all living things could wait, the Dragonborn couldn’t be expected to save everyone without a nap or two in between, could she?

Of course not.

But just as she began to get comfortable, she suddenly felt... a presence? Was someone there?

She whirled around, conjuring armour and readying a firebolt before she realised that her uninvited guest was, of all things, a Daedric Prince.

She lowered her hands, getting rid of the firebolt, and fumbled around for something to say. What does one say when the Prince of Madness pops in unexpectedly?

“You! Uh... buh... _huh_?” she stammered. Eloquently. Finally she found her words and tried again. “What are you doing here?”

“Standing,” the daedra replied. Very helpful. Mira was unamused.

“Why?”

“I came to see you, knew you would be here. I’ve been watching you, my mortal minion.”

“ _Why_?” she asked again, still in a state of shock.

“Because I gave you something. Do you remember?”

Mira’s eyes shifted toward the Wabbajack, displayed very nicely on the wall along with the Axe of Whiterun (which, as a caster, she had little use for) and an ornate shield she had picked up somewhere and liked the look of. Then her gaze shifted to the ground.

“Yes...”

“And what have you done with it?” he asked calmly.

“Nothing...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said again, louder.

“That’s right! Nothing!” Sheogorath shouted, and the suddenness of the shouting was enough to make Mira jump.

“What did you want me to do with it?”

“Maybe cause a little mayhem. Confuse townsfolk, frighten children, inadvertently cause the deaths of at least four farmers. I didn’t give it to you so it could act as a pretty decoration!”

An excuse, any excuse. Angry Daedric Princes are bad Daedric Princes. “If someone sees me playing with that, I could get into trouble with the guards,” she tried.

“Then don’t get caught,” he said, voice getting low and admittedly more frightening than the yelling.

“I... well, I suppose...”

“You suppose? Don’t _suppose_. Act. You’re a clever girl, but spending too much time in your head is downright maddening.” The last word was spoken with inflection that Mira did not miss. She flinched, and hoped he didn’t catch it.

If he did, there was no acknowledgement of it.

“I shall, then,” she said, conviction and firmness in her voice that wasn’t there before. She thought he’d like that. Maybe if she did what he wanted-- caused a little disruption-- he would leave her alone.

“I knew you had it in you!” And with that he was gone. He’d sounded satisfied, anyway.

Mira sighed. But it was time to find out _just_ how dangerous the Wabbajack actually is.


	2. 3

-3-

As it turned out, the Wabbajack was very dangerous, and Mira ended up in the Whiterun prison after killing a town drunk, frightening a merchant, and turning a guard into a chicken.

In retrospect, she should have seen something like this coming.

Still, the guard had changed back and Mira’s sentence was slightly lighter due to her position as Thane of the hold. She was sentenced to a week in jail. It was that or pay off her bounty, and she wasn’t sure she had enough to spare, what with the costs of carriage rides, food, and her fairly expensive alchemy habit.

Later she would have to apologise to the _entire world_ for being late to the hopefully-dramatic mountain-top battle with Alduin. Would there even still be time to read the Elder Scroll and learn that Shout?

Huh. She sure hoped so. She didn’t want to have to explain to _anyone_ that she failed to defeat the World-Eater because she got sidetracked on her way back to the Throat of the World by a Daedric Prince.

A sigh escaped her, and she did her best to make herself comfortable in her cell. She leaned against the wall and figured that was good enough. At least it was just a few days...

She tried to doze off, and just as she had started to, she heard a loud, “Ahem!” from just outside her cell.

She sat up quickly. “What, what?” she asked, alarmed. “Oh. It’s you. I should just start expecting you, shouldn’t I?”

“I came to check up on your progress. Didn’t I tell you not to get caught?” he asked, sounding... amused? Bemused? Some sort of mused.

Mira fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I wasn’t ready for just how much chaos this thing actually causes. What’s the point of this thing?”

“Disruption, panic, chaos like you said. People don’t know how to react to drunks turning into sweetrolls, do they?”

Mira cringed. “Were you watching that?” she asked.

“You picked a good target.”

“He never hurt anyone, though. And I sort of killed him.”

“Maybe _next_ time you’ll be more careful, then,” the Mad God said and Mira frowned. That wasn’t fair. She’d only done this at all because she was worried about what would happen if she didn’t. She’d been coerced! The Mad God had _made_ her do it!

Of course, these were the sorts of things she couldn’t say aloud, or else she herself would be seen as mad. And she couldn’t risk that, not with this “dragon-slaying hero” thing working out so nicely.

And she was fairly certain she was quite sane.

“ _Why_ do you keep appearing?” she decided to ask. “It’s driving me mad. And I _don’t_ want to be mad.”

Which... only caused Sheogorath to laugh.

“What?” she asked, offended.

“You morals are adorable, thinking you’re all so _sane_. And you might be partly sane, or mostly sane, but I’m inside all of you even still.” His voice had gotten low and Mira had to lean in close to hear, a decision she regretted immediately when she heard his words.

“No, that’s not...”

He didn’t let her finish before interrupting with, “Oh, but it is. And mortals who have willingly served me, well, let’s say you don’t come out of that unchanged.”

That was so _not_ what Mira wanted to hear. “Let me guess, it gets worse the longer I serve?”

That made the Mad God laugh aloud. “I wouldn’t say ‘worse,’” he began, and Mira breathed a sigh of relief which quickly faded away as he added, “I would say... ‘more intense.’”

“I do not want ‘more intense’ I want _sane_!” she yelled.

“Oh, how many mortals do you know that are completely sane?”

“Enough. And I want to be one of them!”

“Shut up in there,” she heard as a guard poked his head in, probably to see what the yelling was about. “If you’re going to talk to yourself, do so more quietly.”

“Talk to...?” Mira began, noticing that the Mad God was, in fact, nowhere to be found. “By Azura, I am going insane, aren’t I...?”


	3. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one thought I abandoned this, uh, thingy! I’ve just been super busy!

_No,_ Mira thought. _I actually managed to put a civil war on hold. Now there’s no way around it, I can’t use the ‘Jarl doesn’t want to let me use his palace’ excuse anymore. We’re capturing a dragon. And then... well, we’ll see... Dragon first._

Of course Alduin had gotten away the first time. That really just sort of _figured_. Mira hadn’t had an ounce of good luck since she left High Rock.

Despite how much of a downside it was, the fact that the Jarl of Whiterun had agreed to her insane plan was also, she admitted, fairly lucky. It had all hinged on her ability to actually put off a civil war, but agreement was agreement.

Mira was as shocked as anyone when she actually got General Tullius and Jarl Ulfric to stop fighting. But she wouldn’t really call that a victory. Because it meant now she had to help capture a dragon.

She diverted first to Winterhold. Just south of the city was a shrine to Azura. A part of Mira couldn’t help herself. She had to ask for the Daedra’s wisdom.

She arrived just before dawn. The woman who tended the shrine was asleep. Just as well, Mira didn’t want to feel like she was disturbing the priestess, even though she was sure she’d be up before dawn to tend the shrine.

She held her hood tight in one hand as the wind and rain (more like sleet, something between snow and rain) nipped at her face. With her other, she dropped an offering of glow dust (something very hard to acquire in Skyrim) onto the alter. She knew it was a little early, not quite dawn, but hoped it would work nonetheless.

She kept her prayer short and silent. Wisdom or insight was all she would ask for, all she could ask for. It was rare that Mira asked anyone for help, especially deities of any sort, but she was nervous.

In moments, her robes were soaked through and she was shivering, so she stood, turned back to find her horse, and yelped when she came face to face with a Daedric Prince who was becoming _far_ too familiar.

“What... are you _doing_ here?” she hissed.

“I’d hope you know, mortal, that when you pray on a rainy night, there’s only one prince that hears you,” he said, voice low and slow and quiet, but just momentarily. “The one who remembered his brolly.”

She gave a blank look in response. “... _What?_ ”

“Seeking Azura’s wisdom, are you?” he asked, ignoring her question completely, something Mira _really_ should just start expecting. “Your people really took to Her, didn’t you?”

“I… I suppose so?”

“No matter. She’s not listening right now anyway. Will My wisdom suffice?”

 _No, no, that sounds like a wretched idea._ “Certainly. Can’t hurt, can it? … Don’t answer that. I do not want to know.”

He just stared her down. “You’re about to engage in a battle that will decide the fate of the world. Those don’t happen very often and your odds of survival are slim. Make sure your affairs are in order. Have a drink, prank a jarl, kiss a priest before you miss your chance. I’d suggest you try Greenmote but that won’t do good things for your battle prowess, and I doubt the dragon you have to kill will be understanding about that sort of condition.”

Now, Mira had no idea what ‘Greenmote’ was or why she’d want to kiss a priest of all people, but the gist of his advice was, while not what she was looking for, actually not bad at calming her nerves.

“Either you win or you don’t. It’s in your own hands now,” the Madgod added, “so try not to get killed. Do you know how hard mortal minions with dragon blood are to find?”

“Um… very?”

“And then finding one who’ll cooperate with a Daedric Prince is even more challenging,” Sheogorath went on, not even appearing to acknowledge that she’d said anything. He turned to stare right at Mira then. “And what are you still doing here? Don’t you have a clever trap to spring soon? You should be preparing for that!”

“I… I… yes!” she agreed quickly, sprinting down the steps, away from the shrine. Stealing a glance back up once she’d reached the bottom, she saw no trace of the Madgod.


	4. 5

Mira didn’t see the Mad God again until after a trip to Sovngarde and the defeat of a particular World-Eater. When she came into her little Whiterun house with the intent to collapse face-first onto her bed and never awaken, he greeted her with a manic grin.

She knew it was foolish to expect she’d never see him again. She _knew_ it was foolish but part of her had hoped...

“Oh, why are you here?”

“I’m here to congratulate you on a job well done, of course. You are now on a very short list of people who have directly prevented the end of the world.”

“Why would you care about the end of the world?”

“I don’t, not really. My Isles will go on even if a dragon were to swallow every soul in the Nords’ afterlife. But there hasn’t been a hero like you in two hundred years. ‘Dragonborn.’ Bit of a fancy title, that. Like ‘Nerevarine.’ But I suppose you don’t pick them. And you aren’t champion of anything but even so, you remind me of someone I-- knew.”

Mira frowned, brows knitting together as she contemplated this moment of strange seriousness. And it really was just a moment. His tone shifted to almost-sane only on the last handful of words.

And... then it was gone, just as suddenly as it had arrived.

“There hasn’t been a _Dragonborn_ in almost two hundred years either, has there? Such a shame. The Septim emperors were always the most interesting. Not always the most _stable_ , of course, but you have one family in charge for so long there’ll always be some like my dear Pelagius. And every so often, along comes a Martin. Now _that_ was a true Septim. Dull as _dishwater_ but I’d still call him good. I should have him over for dinner.”

“Dinner...?” Mira had heard of Martin Septim’s sacrifice, of course. Few and far between were the people who hadn’t, especially when she was younger and the event was still fresh in the minds of enough people.

That was as far as the recognition went, however. And in fact, Mira was dreadfully confused by the rest of the conversation. Unsurprisingly, she supposed. She figured the day Sheogorath started making sense to her more often than not was the day she’d have to worry.

“Never mind that,” the Madgod said and Mira pulled herself out of her thoughts to listen once more. “I came here to congratulate you. So, mortal, how do you _feel_ about your recent accomplishments?”

Mira had to think about that, just for a second. “Tired. Really very tired. Good, though. They’ll be singing about me for a while, I imagine.”

“That they will. Then they’ll forget your name and you’ll be lost to history like all other worthwhile heroes.”

She frowned. “But… but that’s--”

“Oh, your accomplishments will be remembered. Someone stopped the dragon, that won’t be denied. But beyond that? Well, just wait and see.”

Mira didn’t really want to wait for such a time, and really hoped that she’d be a pile of ash in a tomb somewhere before it happened.

“You don’t like the sound of that. I can see it on your face. At least you aren’t likely to live long enough to notice it.” It was like he read her mind, or it would have been had she not been _really_ obvious about what she was thinking.

“Tell me something, would you?” she asked.

“Flesh atronachs are _not_ good with children.”

She blinked. “Not… not what I meant. I meant, answer a question for me?”

Which earned her an expectant look from the Madgod, and surprising silence. She’d take it, she supposed.

“Even if no one remembers me, what I did, it mattered, right?”

“Your acts heroism will not affect me in any way but I’ll be sure to spare a passing thought about you here and there. Think of what those who are still alive because their fragile little world hasn’t ended yet think.”

“I… suppose that’s one way to put it. A good way to put it…”

“And stop feeling so down on yourself. Do I need to give you another staff?”

“Gods, please do not do that. The Wabbajack already got me into far too much trouble to--”

“The Staff of the Everscamp! Now that one’s a favourite of mine. A classic. Who doesn’t love a good, inconvenient curse?”

“No, no, I don’t know what that staff is but I’m sure I don’t want it.”

“Oh, if you insist. Maybe I’ll leave it lying around for some other unwary mortal to stumble upon.”

“Good… good idea?” She wasn’t sure what to say. A cursed staff sounded like a terrible thing to leave lying around. And knowing her luck, she’d stumble across whoever ultimately picked it up and end up volunteering to help them and…

“It is, isn’t it? I’ll do just that. Have you ever _seen_ a scamp, Mira? Nasty little buggers. And someone’s just about to discover a handful of them!”

And with that he was gone, and Mira took the opportunity to fall face-first onto her bed.

_That was the first time He used my name._


End file.
